


Access Denied

by Vana



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Facebook, Hacking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 17:22:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5257109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vana/pseuds/Vana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you just need someone to make you log the hell off!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Access Denied

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CommaSplice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommaSplice/gifts).



“Why do you need me to change your Facebook password?” When Walda mentioned “password,” Roose seemed to bristle like a threatened dog. “Have you been hacked? That little — no, it couldn’t be — Arya said she blocked him out of every ISP and VPN from the Wall to Asshai — still, what does she know? She’s only fifteen and maybe he did find a way, that little—“

Walda stared at her husband, who was pacing around, agitated. It wasn’t usual that she couldn’t get a word in edgewise. But it was the case now.

“I’ll speak to Varys — he knows that Braavosi who trained Arya — it may be that the Easterner is on the other side after all… I swear to the gods old and new, Walda, if my son is behind this I’ll flay him alive, I will do it. Now. Focus. What have you been told to do?”

“Told to do?”

“What did they ask for? Money? Information? It doesn’t matter if you gave your credit card number, we can shut that down and get it repaid… Did you give them your social? Did you, Walda?”

Even more rare than Roose talking in a stream of consciousness this way was Walda losing her temper. But just now she was seeing red.

“Roose Bolton, you obviously think I’m some kind of imbecile and I’m getting very tired of your lack of respect!” she snapped. 

Her husband tried to interrupt. She went on. “No one asked me for my social security number or my bank account number on Facebook and even if they had I would certainly not have given it to them nor would I have come running to you for help! You think I know absolutely nothing! I’m tired of it! I’m just … tired!!”

At her explosion, Roose came back to himself and stopped muttering about security and shutting down the Westerosi Internet pipelines. “Then … what were you talking about?”

“If you had stopped with your conspiracy theories enough to listen!”

Roose sighed. He looked Walda in the eye.

“I’m sorry, Walda.”

 She wouldn’t look him back.

He took her hands. They were shaking.

“I’m sorry … _sweetheart_.”

The word was foreign on his tongue and he hated terms of endearment; however, some situations called for the heavy artillery.

“All I wanted,” Walda said, on the verge of tears but holding them back, “was for you to change my Facebook password so I wouldn’t log on and read so many hateful posts about politics. That’s all! I should have just done it myself. I should have asked Ami.”

“The gods have mercy,” Roose muttered. “No, of course. You did the right thing in asking me and I … I was hasty. I thought you had been threatened.”

“You thought your finances had been threatened,” Walda said archly. She still wasn’t entirely over “Now. Focus” and “Did you give them your social?”

“Well, be that as it may be,” which is the closest Roose ever got to admitting fault, “yes, I will change your Facebook password, if that’s what you’d like. But…”

“But what?” Her tone had a warning in it.

“Why don’t you just un… what is it? Unfollow? Defollow?”

“Unfriend?”

“Why don’t you just unfriend those who are angering you?”

Walda laughed out loud. “Oh, Roosie. Because I don’t want to … break up with them, as it were.”

 Her husband’s eyes narrowed.

“In a friendship way,” she said. “If you unfriend someone, you’re done, you’ve cut all ties. You know who’s the worst? Walton, my third — fourth? — cousin Walton. The things he says…”

“That man is an arrant fool,” Roose proclaimed, “you can see it in his lackwit face.”

It was all too true. “But I can’t unfriend him, or Grandpa Walder and the rest would get mad. Stevron’s widow, Marsella, she’s not so bad, you know.”   
“Which one is she again?”

“The chubby one … well … you could say that.”

“Oh yes,” Roose said, absolutely at sea. “I remember her, she isn’t as pretty as you are, of course.”

“Thank you,” Walda beamed. “It would upset her if I were to unfriend Walton.”

“She keeps track of those things? She’s got to be nearly my age.”

“Yes, Roosie, some people over forty do use Facebook, you know. And it would upset her. And that might upset Grandpa and we don’t want that, so it’s better if I just don’t look for awhile.”

Roose sighed again, to himself this time. The machinations and politics of the Frey family were something he did not enjoy experiencing, and if changing Walda’s Facebook password would keep him out of it, so much the better. 

“I’ll change it,” he told her. “Will you wait in the bedroom?” 

Walda laughed. “I suppose,” she said. “You do owe me after that little scene.”

“I do,” he agreed. She shimmied flirtatiously out of the room. Roose thanked the gods that his little wife was not one to hold onto anger, but instead to let it all out in a puff and then be done. And the make-up sex was always phenomenal, he had to admit …

He opened her account settings from where she had left them, studiously did not look at any of her private messages — of which there seemed to be dozens, with more coming in each moment — and changed the password, quickly, to _rb1ad3$r$s+i11$s#4rpaf_. He didn't think even Ramsay could crack that one -- and if he did, he would learn what the ancient Bolton words really meant.

Then he shut the laptop, loosened his belt, and followed his wife to bed.


End file.
